


Party Feel Love

by ThatYukoGirl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dance, How Do I Tag, M/M, Mentioned North Italy (Hetalia), This Is STUPID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29514561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatYukoGirl/pseuds/ThatYukoGirl
Summary: Alfred really hates the ballet dancer on his street dance team. Or does he? *Vsauce music*
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Kudos: 16





	Party Feel Love

**Author's Note:**

> The summary is just a joke, Ill delete it later when I get the brain juices flowing. Or will I *Vsauce music* 
> 
> I wrote a one shot is based on Hyuna and DAWN's song Party Feel Love. It slaps, I recommend (I'm outing myself as an ex-kpop stan right now, go easy).
> 
> I prefer writing one shots to long series like Lights Out in London, purely because I find it hard to stay motivated. I wrote one of these to take a break. Didn't knew how to end it, as usual.
> 
> Come scream at me on Twitter @ThatYuko
> 
> Enjoy?
> 
> Yuko xx

It was relatively late when Alfred said goodbye to his group and even later when he left the studio himself. He said picked up some of the rubbish left behind from their impromptu break, drew the curtains across the windows as the streetlights filtered in and filled out some paperwork from Feliciano's sprained ankle. He had changed, thinking about a way to fill his dancer's place in their upcoming, campus wide show with the ballerinas. He went over the next part of the choreo he'd put together the night before, ensuring the moves made sense musically and that the more, er…. _graceful_ additions to the team could pull it off as easy as possible. He ended up pacing the length of the cushioned laminate flooring to the beats of their fast-paced song choice, running his hands through his sweaty blonde hair and panting with a certain type of excited exhaustion that came with practice this time of night when everything was quiet. _One, two, three, four, five six, seven and eight_ …. A shoulder pop here, a bit of footwork there and Alfred was almost satisfied. Almost. It was hard to be completely fine with any choreography when you were a perfectionist, which Alfred would tell you was his only flaw if you asked him. He fixed himself with a steely blue glare in the floor to ceiling mirrors when he missed a beat, restarting the music on his phone and going through them again. He took a look at the time eventually, deciding 11pm was enough and turned off the lights, locked the studio door and sighed, leaning heavily against it and closing his eyes.

He knew the ballerinas would struggle with that shoulder move. It was sharp, needed to be, and very clean. He assessed the move in his mind, knowing that Roderich would probably huff and tell him that he wasn't going to do a move that sharp and ugly, that there was no grace whatsoever. He knew Francis would try it with less sharpness, wrinkle his nose when Alfred called him out but not complain vocally until after practice when the other ballerinas would run the art of street dance into the ground. The problem was Arthur. Ah, Alfred felt rage tumble about in his system at the mere thought of the man. Arthur would outright refuse to do the move if he couldn't master it and insist Alfred change the choreography. He would pester him for hours and hours, or throw in the towel and sit sulking on the bench. He had never met somebody so entitled as Arthur, principal dancer or not. Not to mention his hot headedness, his eagerness to pick fights with any of the team who weren't the ballerinas, and the way he would openly and unabashedly discredit street dance in front of everyone. Alfred had determined that the only thing likeable about Arthur Kirkland was his dancing. Oh, and his appearance, but a good looking person does not compensate for a mean personality. They did  _ not  _ get on. Alfred wondered why he agreed to the Style Swap programme in the first place and wondered if he should ask him if the prissy attitude continued. The programme was put forward by their university's Student Union as a challenge to all dance societies. The idea was to get the many societies to come together and offer up their interpretation of music to each other by electing a handful of students to go and try other styles of dance. Alfred had laughed at the email, finding it amusing, and promptly signed up his street dance society. He had not expected to be handed seven  _ ballerinas _ to fill the absence of his own seven, two of which were amongst the best in his team. 

The two styles couldn't have been more different. Now, that wasn't to say that Alfred didn't appreciate ballet; he had often admired the dancers for their dedication, their grace and flexibility, and their ability to tell the most delicate of stories with subtle gestures. There was no way Alfred could do what they did. He had seen a few of the new additions warming up, doing splits and reaching in front of them or lifting their legs above their heads against a wall to the chorus of a few oohs and aahs from the street dancers. For the past two weeks, three times a week, he had been teaching the most graceful dancers he had ever met to pop, lock, tut and execute complicated footwork. A few of the dancers had absorbed the moves like sponges and seemed to be enjoying their time. Roderich and Francis were okay, but resistant. But  _ Arthur _ … Alfred had considered him beautiful when he had first introduced himself, despite the scowl. He had adopted the usual ice breaker routine 'introduce yourself and tell us one fact about you', and when it was Arthur's turn, he appeared disinterested and had a face like he had been sucking on lemons all morning. He  _ was _ beautiful though; he had sharp features, thin lips and his eyes were the most astonishing colour of green Alfred has ever seen. He had an inkling that those eyes would glow under the stage lights. He held himself well too, posture immaculate.

"I'm Arthur," The man had spat out with a snarky British accent and an elaborate shrug, "and I really don't want to be here,"

And just like that, Alfred didn't like him. 

He was a teacher above anything however, and teaching required patience, something that Alfred had to work very hard on since he didn't have a lot. Especially where a certain British princess was concerned. He sighed again, opening his eyes to the light of the corridor which contained more practice rooms and the exit. He glanced at the fire door to his left, noting the glittering stars and cars with headlights full beam and decided it was high time to make his way home lest he miss more lectures tomorrow morning. He gathered his bag from the floor and made his way through the student union building, looking forward to the cool night air against his clammy skin. He passed an array of practice rooms until he stopped outside of one which was hemorrhaging music from inside. Alfred frowned, it was unusual for someone but himself to be practising at this hour. 

He stepped back and tried to peak in through the small window in the door, finding it totally covered by a curtain. Pulling a face, he pressed his ear to the portal and listened closely, trying to figure out the song. It was a kind of slow hip-hop/dance song with muffled lyrics. The singer was male, singing in a wistful dreamy tone and Alfred was even more confused than before. It must have been someone from their team, because the heavy base was the same as the song they had been practising earlier. He tested the door with a gentle push, when the music came to an abrupt end and he heard a loud and exasperated shout of frustration. It made him jump and he took several steps away from the door, as if he had just received an electric shock. He heard the person inside talk to themself and the music started up again. Alfred hovered for a moment, wondering if he should just keep walking, but the dancer was nothing if not curious. He closed the gap between himself and the door again, gently inching it open, a bit surprised that it wasn't locked. A familiar lithe figure with blonde hair and striking green eyes was performing a very clean and precise jump in the mirror. The person was totally obscured by the door, so was only visible from within the mirror's reflection. Arthur hadn't noticed Alfred, and the other man watched the ballerina perform a dance that was anything but. His style seemed to be a mix of everything Alfred had taught him, plus his own flare, yet it didn't feel like ballet, or even contemporary. His moves were as clean as he could make them, with all the grace of a softer style. His fingers extended prettily, his arms straight during a fast flex as his arms came up behind his head and out to the side, his chest rippling like Alfred had taught him.  _ So he could do it _ , the other reckoned. To be brutally honest, he was nearly there, perhaps closer than most of the other ballerinas were, and Alfred was more than impressed. He assessed him as the smaller blonde began to form straight angular lines, and it hit Alfred rather suddenly as to why Arthur had been a principle dancer in his teens… Or so he had heard Francis saying. The dancing really was a beautiful as the dancer, and Alfred could see the muscles of his legs when his jogging bottoms fell just right. He let himself look, despite knowing he probably shouldn't. His musicality was refreshing, his timing almost perfect. Well, nearly; Arthur dipped into Alfred's choreographed footwork, then up into a pop of his hips. It didn't hit as crisp and was half a beat too late. Arthur groaned again, storming over to switch off the stereo. Alfred cringed, and slipped in a quietly as he could as the ballet dancer chuntered to himself about his competence. Alfred lay his stuff on the floor and watched him rewind his music and move back to the centre of the room with  _ absolute  _ grace. Alfred was looking at the real thing now, and as he went through the moves again, Alfred could see where Arthur was struggling. His back and legs were too straight to make the hips clean. Arthur threw his hands to the sky, but didn't bother switching the music off this time, opting to surrender and flop onto his back like a starfish. Alfred suppressed a chuckle as he watched the rise and fall of the other man's chest, red faced and sweating. 

He could have left, and really he should have done, but the American had seen something in Arthur in that moment. He schooled his expression, not sure how he would be received. He crossed his arms over his chest, ready to be as meticulously stubborn and critical as he knew he could be. If Arthur was going to fight him, then he at least wanted to appear unphased.

"You wanna get up and try again?" He asked. The blonde held his breath for a minute, looking quickly in Alfred's direction. It was only then that Arthur's attention was fixed on him. The man sat up quickly, arm resting on his bent leg, still with that irritatingly perfect posture and jesus  _ christ _ why was he so  _ good looking _ ? Arthur's face morphed from surprise to pure sour as he eyed the bigger man with a scowl,

"What are  _ you  _ doing here? Get out, I'm dancing ballet and you clearly know nothing about that," He lied and Alfred rolled his eyes. He knew this was going to happen. Damn it, why did his attitude suck so much?

"That was the furthest thing from ballet I've ever seen, little prince. If I'm right, that was  _ my  _ choreography." Alfred spat back, and Arthur's face flushed. He shuffled to face the mirror and folded his arms,

"Yes, well-" 

"Look, whatever grudge you've got against me, forget it. You're doing that hip part wrong," Alfred said, now speaking to him through the mirror. The Brit whipped his head around to give Alfred a scandalized look, "but I watched you and I know how you can fix it." 

"Oh, so that's what you do, creep around here at night and harass anyone who doesn't dance the same way as you?" Arthur said, spitting with a sudden fury.

" _ Get up, _ "

" _ Get out, _ "

They were getting nowhere.

Alfred sighed, long and deep, and ran a hand through the knots in his hair. He eyed the door mournfully and extended a hand to help the other dancer to his feet. Arthur stared at it indifferently, making no move to reach out and take it. He did let his shoulders sag a bit, however, telling Alfred that he was at least a bit more approachable,

"Look, what I saw was really awesome. Your lines are great, you add your own to the choreo, and I think you're doing much better than the other guys from your team," Alfred admitted, "You could be even better than you already are if you let me help you with that one move," 

Arthur still seemed unswayed. Alfred reached his hand out further, 

"You wanna get better, right? You wanna do the best here just like when you do ballet," He guessed, and now Arthur's eyes flicked up to search his face. They were silent for a second and Arthur seemed to concede reluctantly. He placed his hand in Alfred's,

"Whatever, just help me do that hip move then leave me alone," He said with a huff.  _ Victory!  _ Alfred closed his fingers around Arthur's paler ones and pulled him, quite harshly, to his feet. It sent the other crashing into him as he tried to retain his footing and failing. Arthur let out a breathy sound as they collided. Alfred held the smaller man by the shoulders, trying to stop him from falling,

"I'm sorry! I just-" 

"Bloody hell, what were you trying to do? Pull my arm out of its socket?! Get off me, I'm fine," Arthur said, pushing at his chest. Alfred let go, and Arthur walked a good way away from him, rotating his shoulder in a circle and muttering about how Alfred was 'built like an effing house' and has 'an idiotic amount of strength'. His cheeks were pink,

"Are you done going on about my size? Anyone would think you have a strength kink," Alfred said offhandedly, too focused on his reflection as he went over the move alone. He thus missed Arthur's mini meltdown in the corner of the room as he ran to restart the song. Arthur joined the American with the same small run that he had seen earlier and they went through the choreography once together. Arthur faltered in the same place as usual, yet Alfred pulled it off.

"What am I doing wrong?" He asked.

Alfred reached around to stand behind him, "Your back and legs are too straight, see?" He said, "Relax your posture here," He held the small of Arthur's back and felt the muscles there relax with his instruction. Alfred smiled as he watched his team member slacken, and shot it to him through the mirror.

"That's right, like that. I know it's hard because it's different from what you're used to," Alfred enthused. Arthur seemed to get jittery the longer Alfred held his back, so he let go in favour of walking around in front of him. He made a motion for Arthur to do it again, and watched as his temporary teammate counted four beats in his head before following along to the beat of the next chorus. It was a big improvement, it was sharper and smoother but still a bit too late for Alfred's liking. He frowned at Arthur, who was looking expectedly in his direction. He knelt down in front of him and tapped the back of his knee. He forced it to bend by keeping his hand at the back of his thigh. He looked up to see Arthur swallow hard. He could have missed it or imagined it or anything else, but Alfred had a feeling that he just got a hint as to why Arthur's attitude stank in practice. He smiled wickedly, hiding it by lowering his head.

"Bend your knees, but this one more, it'll be more comfortable for you and you'll hit that beat," Alfred instructed, moving his hand but remaining on his knees. Arthur nodded quickly, counting four more counts before repeating the move again. Alfred shook his head. Too soft this time. Arthur must have been used to criticism in dance, because he didn't flinch when Alfred remarked his mistake to him. The large man jumped to his feet and walked around to stand behind him again. He crowded the man intentionally, although he had helped many of his dancers like this. He could smell Arthur's apple shampoo as he inched him closer to the mirror with his hands on his shoulders, talking him through it as he went. He slid his hands down the other man's arms, totally unnecessarily but without missing the look on Arthur's face, until they came to rest on his hips. He told Arthur to execute the move as Alfred had instructed, shouting 'sharp, sharp' as he took control of the other's movement. He was surprised when the Brit offered him no resistance, letting himself be manhandled. That was interesting, since the smaller man had given him nothing  _ but _ from the second he walked through his practice room doors. Arthur nodded with half a smile,

"I-I-" He cleared his throat, "I see what you're, um, saying now. Yes, thank you," 

"Good, dude. Do it again with my hands still here," Alfred said, squeezing him. He let out a slight gasp which was almost lost to the music as he stiffened in Alfred's grasp. 

Alfred had no doubt now about Arthur's attraction now. Particularly as the smaller man moved again. He left the other's body move perfectly this time, and the instructor inside of him was absolutely delighted when Arthur turned around to face him. Alfred wanted to let go, he really did, but they slotted together so well. Arthur flashed those gorgeous greens up to him and he lost it. He slid his hands up his back until they pressed into his spine,

"A-Alfred?" Arthur murmured, blinking owlishly at him.

"Dance with me," He whispered against his ear, feeling him shiver. Arthur didn't decline, letting himself fall backwards as Alfred lowered him in time to the music. Arthur was ridiculously flexible, of course he was, and Alfred regarded his neck as he bent over, wondering what leaving a mark on the milky expanse of skin would be like. He swallowed, slowly letting the other come back up to face him. Arthur wrapped an arm around Alfred's neck with poise, and Alfred found himself tracing the limb with his fingertips. The other man held an unreadable expression on his face, but Alfred knew it mimicked his own as the song tinkled on. It consumed them both as they slid and pressed against each other, as sweetly therapeutic as honey. They simultaneously lost themself to the lyrics and the beat of drums and found themselves within them too. They didn't fight it, simply letting the rhythm guide them towards each other. They could have been anywhere at this current moment, dancing on Mars or the studio could be on fire but it didn't matter; Alfred's body totally wasn't listening to him, as if it was under a spell and tingling with magic as uncontrollable feelings surged to the surface, and judging by Arthur's dazed expression and pink cheeks he had felt the same. Arthur pressed himself against Alfred's chest after a while, both breathing heavily as the music dipped and ended. Neither of them wanted to lose the magic of the moment by breaking away, but when the music changed Arthur unwillingly broke free of his hold and paced over to switch the phone off. Alfred watched with rapt attention as he pulled the device from the docking station and paced back over, like Arthur was the most interesting thing in the world. 

The spell was broken, leaving the two shuffling around awkwardly and avoiding eye contact, 

"So um…" They began in unison, causing a bit of a squabble as to who should speak first.

"How long has this been going on?" Alfred asked first, and Arthur cringed,

"Uh, day one?" Alfred seemed surprised, 

"Oh come on. You're practically a walking God, Alfred," 

The man chuckled, "You're not bad yourself," 

"I honestly thought you hated me," He returned sheepishly.

"I thought your attitude was poor,"

"I was giving off so many hints but you just weren't getting it," He shrugged, "I changed tactics,"

"Was I really that dense? 

"Uh huh,"

"Damn. Why didn't you just say so?" Alfred said, deciding that he was very much Arthur-deficient and pulled him back in by the waist.

"So, what happens now?" Arthur asked. Alfred's eyes grew intense,

"What do you  _ want  _ to happen?"

"I want you to take me out for dinner, duh," Arthur stated obviously, running his hands over Alfred's delicious biceps. The man shrugged,

"What if you're dinner?" Alfred asked,

"That's just grim," 

"Dinner, then. I'll pick you up Saturday night, 7pm?"

Arthur nodded.

Monday was the next day of practice. As Alfred predicted, Roderich didn't like the shoulder move and Francis did it while complaining. Arthur however, mastered it almost perfectly, but didn't complain when Alfred placed a hand between his shoulder blades in direction. They were beaming like absolute idiots around each other. Roderich and Francis had regarded the pair over a bottle of water during a break,

"Well, that's certainly new," Roderich remarked, and Francis stopped rolling his shoulder to glance over at him with a nod,

"I'm just glad  _ something  _ happened, I was fed up of those guys," 


End file.
